tension at the verberant core
by Merellia
Summary: This is how he learns that Vulcan has been destroyed.      -\Spock and Jim meet as young kids.\
1. Prologue

When T'pol enters the small room the Embassy has devoted for Spock's study to discuss his progress in higher mathematics, he starts shivering and cannot stop. He doesn't understand why he is reacting in this way, but he feels on the verge of illness. He attempts to work through his lesson nevertheless; after last year's debacle at the learning center, his behavior has been above reproach, and he intends that to continue. But he can't stop shivering. T'pol stares at him, face impassive, as he stutters his way through an explanation of sextet quadratic equations.

"Un-under such con-conditions one must ap-ap-apply hyper ge-geometric f-functions," he manages, then takes a deep breath as he attempts to regulate his physiological responses. He ignores the queasy roil of emotion that surges—he is Vulcan, and it is inappropriate. "Th-these f-functions—"

T'pol raises a hand. "Desist. Spock, it is apparent that I am no longer suitable as your instructor. We will conclude this lesson here and you may instead engage in independent study."

His breath stops as she rises.

She walks to the door, then turns around. "Under such circumstances thanks are illogical, but permit me nevertheless to tender my—appreciation." She lifts a hand in the ta'al, then leaves.

T'pol's behavior contravenes normative patterns. Spock considers this, hoping the queasiness will subside. It does not. He runs a health diagnostic on the console. It unhelpfully suggests indigestion as the cause of his unease, yet nothing has changed in his diet.

The console informs him, over the course of the day, that his subsequent lessons are each canceled. The queasiness increases to the point that he considers informing his parents that he is in need of medical aid. His father enters before he can do so and the day ends in ultimate humiliation when Spock's eyes involuntarily start watering.

This is how he learns that Vulcan has been destroyed.

"Father," Spock says, holding himself rigid even as he feels human tears fill his eyes and slip down his cheeks. He draws himself upright. "I—am finding self-regulation to be—" his voice hitches but he forces himself to continue, "challenging. I must excuse myself."

"Spock." He pauses, standing next to his father in the doorway, but refuses to look up. "We all struggle under these circumstances. Perhaps you will be eased by meditation."

He nods once and retreats to his room, and after an attempt to join the adults for their evening meal leaves him with a throbbing head and light sensitivity, spends much of the next several days there in solitude. The room overlooks one of the Embassy's courtyards, and one morning the sound of quarreling voices jerk Spock from his meditation.

That afternoon, his mother tells him that he is being sent away.

"It's not you, dear, it's us; we're affecting you too much with our own emotional responses," his mother says gently, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed. "You'll find it more calming in a different atmosphere."

"Vulcans do not experience emotion," Spock feels obligated to remind his mother.

She, surprisingly, chuckles. "Dear, they—and you—feel very deeply. Under these circumstances, however, logical control is nearly impossible. And you children are particularly sensitive."

Stiffly, Spock says, "I am able to control myself." Available evidence contradicts this statement, but he will not allow himself to suggest or believe that he can do otherwise.

His mother shifts, then clasps her hands together in her lap. It is apparent that she is choosing what to tell him. After a moment, she asks, "Did you hear that argument this morning?"

Spock is puzzled, but nods.

His mother sighs. "That was Stonn and T'pring."

Spock struggles to find something to say. Eventually he tries, "Your logic is sound."

"Oh, Spock." His mother smiles at him, her affection warm to his senses. "Your father and I will miss you very much."


	2. Chapter 1

Horizon Academy offers Spock a satisfactorily tailored course of learning. Spock soon settles into an efficient equilibrium of time divided between study, exercise, and meditation. Although he and T'pring are the Academy's only Vulcan students, they avoid each other more than they talk, and Spock is wary of associating too closely with human illogic. He cannot expect to find exceptions like his mother wherever he goes on Terra. Instead, he initiates an independent study project for himself.

In a brief break between class sessions three weeks and two days after his arrival, he sits in a commons area chair to work on his data pad, soaking in the weak sunlight that filters through the windows. He is, as always, slightly chilled, but not enough to impact him significantly.

"Hello."

He glances up at the salutation: a human male stands by the arm of his chair. Spock still finds it challenging to assess comparative ages but, given the male's height, surmises that he is at least a year or two younger than Spock. "Greetings," he says dismissively, then returns his attention to the problem on his pad.

"What are you doing?"

Spock thinks of and disregards several possible responses, beginning with, _Attending to matters of my own concern_, before saying more temperately, "I am conducting a comparative analysis of approaches to quantum relativity in Vulcan, human, and Andorian physics."

The human crowds closer to his chair arm and Spock cannot help tensing at the threatened touch, but the human male subsides, instead craning his neck to look at Spock's datapad with invasive curiosity. "Primes!" His eyes are blue and his smile seems to brighten them, a physical impossibility. Spock thus immediately discards the impression in favor of disapproval at the human's open emotionality. "I'm good with primes," the human adds, rocking forward on his toes.

"Indeed." A finger-flick turns the datapad's screen to a fractal pattern and Spock stands, looking down at the human male, almost a head shorter than he. "I have other commitments now. You will excuse me."

As he walks away, the human says loudly behind him, "I could help you with your problem!" A nearby, older student snickers; Spock dismisses them all from his attention and departs.

The following week, six days later, Spock is leaving the xenobiology lab. Students for the next session are already awaiting admittance; his class's discussion of the tissue sample from Ngultor psi-vines had been prolonged.

"Hello!"

It's the human male again. Spock hesitates, then says, "Greetings."

"We're going to start breeding Melvaran Mud Fleas today," the human says.

Spock attempts to determine how the human expects him to respond to this statement of fact. He tucks his datapad under one arm and settles on, "Indeed."

"Our instructor said that you can eat them." The human grins. "I'm hoping we get to taste!"

"I understand that they are considered a delicacy in some circles," Spock says. "Now I must depart for my next class. I do not wish to be late." He walks away, thoughts turning to his next course. They are to hear a guest lecturer from Andoria, where he has learned wave phsyics were developed into a class of performance art at the Andorian Academy.

"I'll save one for you!" the human announces behind him, but Spock dismisses the comment as irrelevant and culturally ignorant. He is interested to discover whether artistic interpretations like those of the Andorians retain any of the originating theory's validity, and has prepared several intriguing questions for the lecturer that he wishes to review before the talk begins.

Two weeks and five days later, at the midday meal, the human approaches Spock again. "Hello!"

Spock looks up from his soup, a vegetable medley that he has been informed is called named "Green Goddess" for reasons that, he supposes, may seem self-explanatory on Terra but to him suggests a meal indulgently evocative of fallible belief systems while simultaneously incorporating an irreverent element of deophagism. He suspects some element of human humor may be at play. "Greetings," he says, considering briefly the illogic of a species that foists unsolicited social attentions upon one; this strikes him as approaching a criticism of his mother, however, so he turns his attention instead to the way that this human rocks forward onto his toes when Spock returns his salutation. Perhaps the rocking signifies a congenital lack of balance.

Consequently, Spock can do little but stare at the human in disbelief when he says, in heavily-accented but passable Vulcan, "How go your inquiries into quantum relativity?"

Faintly, Spock replies in Vulcan, "Satisfactorily."

The human grins. "That's, like, good, isn't it? At least, I think that's what you said, right? _Muhl_?"

"How did you learn Vulcan?" Spock asks, following the other back into Standard. He knows he could be considered rude for not answering the human's question, but no other response seems feasible.

"I asked T'pring and she told me. T'pring's awesome!" The human eyes Spock and then adds with inexplicable haste, "But I like math and physics better."

Spock considers the human, who strikes him as altogether perplexing. Spock has not previously understood number theory as a subject for interaction among human subadults outside of immediate learning contexts, but infinite diversity at least suggests the possibility. "Physics offers great scope for the informed mind," he offers at last.

The human apparently takes this response for an invitation, hitching himself into the chair next to Spock. He puts down a tray with a sandwich and a pouch of juice. "Is it different, thinking about physics in Vulcan and Standard?"

"Approaches to the study of relativity were significantly divergent in response to dissimilar conceptions of time in Vulcan," Spock replies, studying the human, whose skin tone differs from that of their previous encounters, having become pallid in hue. "May I make a personal inquiry?"

"Huh?" The human blinks and then nods, mumbling around a mouthful of sandwich, "Yeah!"

"Has your health become compromised since we last conversed?"

"Oh, uh." Now the human's color changes again, a tide of pink suffusing his face. "I caught a virus. From the Melvaran Mud Fleas." He puts down his sandwich. "And then I was allergic to the vaccine." His expression conveys profound disappointment to Spock when he adds, "I didn't even get to _taste _one. It isn't fair."

"I fail to understand what relevance the concept of fairness holds in relation to the consumption of Mud Fleas," Spock says.

"They were supposed to hop in your mouth while you chewed. It was going to be totally thrall."

Spock finds the description repellent. "Sensationalism seems an inadequate reason for the consumption of living creatures. It is neither logical nor ethical."

"Yeah, but you're Vulcan," the human says, seemingly satisfied with this explanation as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

"Illogicality does seem to be a human specialty," Spock concedes, helping himself to some more of his soup and resolutely refusing to think about Mud Fleas.

With surprising bitterness, the human says, "Yeah, we're great at that." He stuffs another bite of sandwich in his mouth and chews silently for a moment, then asks, "So, if I wanted to learn about physics in Vulcan, would you teach me?"

"The Academy offers introductory courses in Vulcan," Spock replies, disapproving: he is neither official instructor or tutor, nor does he have any desire to become one.

"I don't want to wait until next term, and anyway, I want to learn from you." The human takes a firm bite from his sandwich.

Spock points out, "You have already been learning from T'pring." He stifles further disapproval; T'pring's status as his future bondmate has no bearing on the current conversation.

"I don't want to learn from T'pring," the human says, then adds in what appears to be but surely cannot be a non-sequitur, "You know we arrived at the same time, right? Here. At the Academy."

Spock did not know this and helps himself to more soup, dismissing the possibility that he might be irritated by a human observing something that he had not. "Indeed."

The human grins at him, and Spock suspects his fleeting response has not been well concealed. "It was easier for me to find out—you and T'pring, you know, are the only Vulcans here. There are a lot more humans. But it's a bit weird, yeah? You especially, because Vulcan's _gone_, and you get sent away? That's not logical. But me too. I should have gone to juvie, but I got sent here instead. That doesn't happen."

The noises around them change as periods shift and other students begin their preparations to leave, while others begin arriving in greater numbers. Spock is both appalled—this human by his own admission has breached legal standards, and associating with him is not logical—and curious, for the assertions of incongruities, while uninformed in part and statistically insignificant otherwise, still seem significant. And, unwillingly, he has to concede that the human himself appears somewhat fascinating, semblance of immaturity shifting to reveal sharper thought beneath. "What are you proposing?"

Clearly pleased, the human leans forward in his excitement. "Just—we hang out. Talk. Share information and see what we figure out. The Vulcan, that's our cover. Although," he adds, leaning back and finishing his sandwich, "I really do like physics."

Spock stares into his empty soup bowl. Humans are puzzling. Grudgingly, he looks up and says, "I find your plan . . . intriguing."

The human's smile is very bright. "Great! And, you know, my name is Jim. James Kirk. In case you didn't."


End file.
